


Like a scar

by LadyNobody



Category: Inazuma Eleven
Genre: Angst, Introspection, Self-Hatred, What-If, light reference to alcholism, light reference to past trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2018-12-08
Packaged: 2019-09-13 23:21:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16901715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyNobody/pseuds/LadyNobody
Summary: It was a tattoo but it surely felt like a fresh scar.what if Fudou's fake tattoo was actually real?





	Like a scar

Fudou Akio never showered with the others at school.  
He packed his back, said goodbye to few lucky ones, then left for good.

Fudou Akio only ever showered at home. Alone.  
When he got back after late practice his house was always dark, with the windows closed except for the broken one that he still had to fix somehow.   
Newspaper and insulating tape could only do that much during winter.  
Inside, he tried to be as silent as a shadow, breathing in his mother’s meds smell mixed with what he feared was alcohol.  
His mother was always sleeping when he had to shower, and he was glad.

He was glad because that way he could’ve tricked himself into believing that he was alone.  
That way he could’ve dropped his bag on the bathroom’s floor and sigh before taking off his clothes.  
Unnoticed   
Unheard   
But he always locked the door, just in case-

Once naked, he’d turn to face the mirror on top of the sink and he was greeted without fail by a slightly disgusted face.  
He hated what would come next.

A tiny cotton ball drenched in a stinky pink liquid always tried to get stuck between his fingers while he was busy taking deep, long breaths before finally opening his eyes again.  
He had to face the truth.  
He always had to face the truth when alone.  
Slowly and trembly, he’d had to wipe off layers and layers of concealer the colour of his skin, revealing to his tired, bitter eyes what was always laying underneath.  
A tattoo.  
A memento.  
A scar of which he could’ve never had a chance to get rid off.

**He despised it.**

Snarling mockingly at his own reflection, he’d throw the cotton away with a quick gesture of contempt.  
How funny it was for him to try and cover it with makeup, just like he tried to do for his past with useless lies.  
He could’ve used all the tricks he was capable of, but at the end of the day he always had to deal with himself for what he was.  
For what he had done.  
As his fingers traced that pattern red like blood, familiar faces seemed to appear on the dull glass of the mirror.  
They were in pain, he could see it.  
He could feel it in his stomach, twisted and tangled as the memories of his past actions resurfaced once more, taunting him as he fought to keep his eyes open.  
He had to watch them.  
Sakuma, Genda, Kidou…  
His grip on the sink tightened as he gritted his teeth, as his nails scratched his shaved head.  
It was useless.  
No amount of pain or regret could’ve ever made him feel less guilty.  
And yet, no one seemed to care.  
They had welcomed him in their happy, regular, teen’s life without a word, calling him their friend, even something more…  
How.  
How could they have forgotten when all he could hear and see were their cries of pain and horror and their twisted faces.  
How could they have forgiven him when all he did was laugh and push them to break themselves further apart.

Yes, he was given the explanation plenty of times already, from Kazemaru, from Someoka-   
The Aliea stone transformed them into their evil counterpart, strengthening their dark thoughts and feelings to the point where they were almost brainwashed.  
But that was the thing that woke him up at night, drenched in sweat:  
Almost.  
It meant that all that negativity was still in there.  
It meant that he should’ve never feared for a monster to be under his bed, because it was already looking straight at him.

He had it in himself to break someone while enjoying it, if it meant he’d reach his personal goals.  
So, after all, he was just like the man that agreed to tattooing an eleven years old kid, not even caring where did he got the money he used to pay him and surely not giving a shit about any possible second thoughts.

_Maybe_  he deserved to live with that reminder.  
 _Maybe_  he deserved every ounce of pain the memories it brought back gave him.  
 _Maybe_  he deserved the loneliness of his house.  
 _Maybe_  he deserved to guess if the ones falling on the shower’s floor where drops of water or silent tears.

**_It was a tattoo but it surely felt like a fresh scar._ **


End file.
